


i took a sip from my devil's cup

by Ellerigby13



Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Fantastic Four, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: A League of Their Own - Freeform, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Married Life, Multi, Sexual Roleplay, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18917044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellerigby13/pseuds/Ellerigby13
Summary: With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride...A collection of drabbles based on my Summer Cocktails Prompts on Tumblr.  First chapter will be table of contents.





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thestanceyg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestanceyg/gifts), [SerialObsessor (ibelieveinturtles)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinturtles/gifts), [McGregorsWench](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McGregorsWench/gifts), [Artemis_Day](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Day/gifts), [EmSonderling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmSonderling/gifts), [Mila_anna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mila_anna/gifts), [Caitriona_3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/gifts), [crimtastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimtastic/gifts).



> Thanks so much for checking this out! Leave me some love if you enjoyed <3  
> Title lyrics from Britney Spears's traditional Earth ballad "Toxic."

** Table of Contents **

  1. Table of Contents 
  2. _Eyes Like Gunsmoke, Lips Like a Cherry at Midnight_ \- "Old Fashioned" for thestanceyg - Darcy Lewis/Matt Murdock
  3. _Sweet Vermouth on Your Tongue_ \- "Manhattan" for Artemis_Day  **[Explicit]** \- Bucky Barnes/Jane Foster/Loki
  4. _The Wrong End of a Cutlass_ \- "Fire at Sea" for SerialObsessor - Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
  5. _The Rare Lazy Day_ \- "Green Apple Martini" for McGregorsWench - Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
  6. _To Expect the (Un)expected_ \- "Blueberry Mojito" for EmSonderling - Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis/Johnny Storm
  7. _Having the Hots_ \- "Sex on the Beach" for Mila_Anna  **[Explicit]**  - Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
  8. _No Kissing in Baseball_ \- "Jack and Cherry Coke Slush" for Caitriona_3 - Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis/Natasha Romanoff
  9. _Poolside_ \- "White Peach Cooler" for crimtastic  **[Explicit]** \- Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
  10. _Whiskers on Kittens_ \- "Lemon Drop" for quadrad - Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis
  11. _Chasing the Seine_ \- "Southside Gin Fizz" for Artemis_Day - Bucky Barnes/Jane Foster




	2. Eyes Like Gunsmoke, Lips Like a Cherry at Midnight - Darcy Lewis/Matt Murdock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Old Fashioned" - Darcy Lewis/Matt Murdock - the stanceyg

“I’d ask what a nice guy like you is doin’ in a place like this, but…”

Matt smiled into the nape of her neck before adjusting his tie and letting his free hand drift down to the soft curve of her waist.  Darcy grinned, too, took a puff of the long, thin cigarette between her fingers, and sipped from the glass in front of her. The band in the corner was playing something fine and slow, and there was something funny about a man who practiced law sitting in a joint like this, something even funnier about his assistant draped across his lap with rouge on her lips so red it was a shame her law-man couldn’t see it.

Matt brought his mouth to her ear.  “Fisk and his fellas still talkin’ shop over there, huh?”

She raised her eyes to the fat cat in the crisp suit in the corner opposite the band, a small crowd of lackeys and parasites assembled around him.  Wilson Fisk was holding court as usual, his latest flame, a woman named Vanessa, draped over him much the way Darcy was with Matt. His voice boomed loud enough, but the music played just a little louder, so the words didn’t come quite so easy to Darcy’s untrained ears.

“Looks to be the case,” she sighed and gave her drink an absent stir.  She wouldn’t be here if Matt didn’t need to keep under wraps, wouldn’t be all dolled up and dropped in his lap if they didn’t need more information for the case they were building against Fisk.

In short, she musta been a glutton for punishment, going this far for a man who could never love her the way she loved him, who had no idea what she felt about him.

“Hey,” he said quietly, like he could sense the change in her demeanor.  “We finish these drinks, you feel up for a dance with me?”

“A dance?”

“I might step on your toes.”  He chuckled, and she became painfully aware of the hand at her waist, his long, dexterous fingers meandering back and forth over the thin fabric of her dress.  “But I got a feeling you look too damn good not to ask to dance tonight, Darce.”

“I don’t wanna be brash here, boss,” she said, turning to glance at him, those gorgeous, hazy amber eyes hidden behind the dark of his glasses, “but how would you know how good I look tonight?”

“I know you look good always, Miss Lewis.”  They stood up together, the hand not on her waist gliding down her wrist to lace their fingers together.  “Just waitin’ for the right chance to tell you.”

In spite of herself, she could feel the heat in her cheeks pulling at the corners of her mouth.  She guided Matt toward the dance floor, making sure to keep his back to the area where Fisk and his men were congregated.  Her arms found his shoulders, and when the singer began to croon out something too gorgeous for a night like this, Darcy could nearly feel herself melting into him.  “I gotta say, Mr. Murdock, you have a way of makin’ a girl blush.”

“Well, nice girl like you in a place like this...a good blush is the least you deserve.”


	3. Sweet Vermouth on Your Tongue - Bucky Barnes/Jane Foster/Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Manhattan" - Bucky Barnes/Jane Foster/Loki - Artemis_Day

“Just couldn’t wait for me, huh?”

Jane can barely focus on the mock-annoyed chuckle in Bucky’s voice, being a little occupied with the bona fide Norse god working his way down her front, nimble fingers just finishing prying the last button loose of her shirt.  Loki’s mouth detaches from the tender spot on her neck, and Jane has to fight the urge to whine at the missing sensation.

“You’re remarkably good at playing catch-up, James, so do try to make yourself useful,” he sings out, before lowering himself to the sensitive crease where Jane’s neck meets her shoulder, his tongue darting out to wet her skin, followed by the careful graze of his teeth.

She runs her hand through her boyfriend’s hair, stopping at the nape of his neck, and digs her fingers in, pulling him closer.  In her peripherals she can see Bucky shrugging out of his jacket, and so she tilts her head to the side and catches his eyes just as the garment hits the floor.  He flashes her a million-watt smile and brushes his hair out of his face, then falls onto the bed at her side. At the same time Loki lowers his mouth to catch her nipple between his teeth, Bucky thumbs open her jeans.

Jane feels herself gasp, and it’s partially the feeling of Loki’s lips on her that makes her roll her hips upward, partially wanting her jeans off as quickly as possible, as Bucky yanks the offending article down her legs.  She almost flinches at Loki running his tongue down between her breasts, stopping at the dip in her navel and turning his tongue icy cold.

“How’s that feel, doll?” Bucky murmurs, brushing a few strands of her hair away from her face, and presses his lips to a tender spot at the base of her jaw.  Loki pauses to glance up at her, eyes full with both curiosity and glee.

“Don’t you fucking stop,” she hisses, and lifts her arm so both hands rest above her head.  Taking the hint, Bucky lets his metal hand pin her by the wrists, and Loki resumes his kisses, slowly drawing his tongue, alternating hot and cold, over the thin fabric of her panties.

“You’re beautiful.”  Bucky buries his face into her neck, and she can’t help rolling her hips into Loki’s face, her teeth digging into the plush of her lower lip.  “So damn beautiful, doll.” His flesh hand pinches an exposed nipple, and then lingers over it, pressing with the rough pad of his fingertip into her skin.

“Kiss me, Bucky, please.”  The air rushes over her lower half as Loki sweeps her panties down her thighs, and Bucky stifles her moan by lowering his lips to hers, the warm heat of his tongue stroking hers, coaxing her as he makes his way into her mouth.  Loki’s tongue shifts back to freezing, and this time she can’t help the noise that flows from her lips to Bucky’s, soft and high and insistent with one boyfriend at her mouth and the other between her legs.

“He’s right, dearest.”  She can hardly hear Loki hum into the inside of her thigh, but it’s there, sweet and husky, and like everything sweet about Loki, followed by the sharp graze of his teeth on the delicate skin there.  “You are utterly stunning.”

“Mm, especially like this,” Bucky says in the narrow space between their lips, and before she can get anything else out, they both kiss her again, exactly where she needs it.


	4. The Wrong End of a Cutlass - Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fire at Sea" - Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow - SerialObsessor

If Captain Lewis hadn’t had her hands tied behind her back, she’d likely have her arms crossed in front of her.  That, or they’d be making a rude gesture at the man standing before him, and she’d be wiping the stupid smug grin she could spy from under his mask.

Tales on the sea referred to him as the dread pirate Crossbones, great conqueror of ships and plunderer of treasures far and wide.  In many of those tales, he’d given the crews of such ships an ultimatum: join him and his crew on the Mighty Hydra, or die. The open seas feared Crossbones, but not Captain Darcy Lewis.  Captain Darcy Lewis, in spite of the terrors she’d seen and the challenges the sea had presented her, could frankly give two shits about some grand bully of the oceans.

And now, this great horror of a man stood before her, too cowardly to show his face to her, hiding under a heavy iron mask and holding the blade of his sword beneath her chin.

“Captain Darcy Lewis,” he said, and the voice that came from under the mask was low and full of gravel, and were she not in the position she was now, she might like to find that voice on a fine-looking man in a port somewhere tropical.  But she was where she was, and for that she hated it. “Heard you were the head of quite an important fleet. Wonder where they are now.”

Some of the filthy pirates around them laughed their filthy laughs, and, forgetting her binds, Darcy jerked forward, wishing very much that she could knock that stupid thing right off his head.  She settled for spitting at his feet.

“You fancy yourself a mighty pirate, Crossbones, but have you so little spine you won’t show your face?”

He turned to his crew, smirking.  “Leave us,” he said, and they did.

It was rumored he wore the mask because he’d been cursed by Davy Jones, that any soul looking upon him would forever blind themselves, and be cursed as well to rot at the bottom of the sea.  It was rumored that he’d been disfigured in a terrible storm, that he’d been keelhauled by a mutinous crew, that he’d lost half his face to a shark hell-bent on taking him along to the depths.  There had been many things said about the horrid pirate Crossbones. Darcy didn’t believe one of them.

She did steel herself for whatever was to come, as the man in front of her sheathed his sword and brought his scarred hands to the base of the mask.  He paused, seeing her tense.

“Certain you’ve the stomach for what’s beneath, Captain?”  The eye slits were narrow, but she could nearly catch a glint of the mischief in the dark she saw there.

“Certain you’ve the stomach to show me?”

As he pushed the mask up and off his head, Darcy felt her knees give, and she would have crumbled at his feet if not for the binds holding her to the rail at the edge of the deck.  She hated him, and hated herself for allowing her eyes to fill, and hated him more for having her tied like this so she couldn’t swipe at the tears now falling down her cheeks.

“Brock.”  She choked on the word.  It wasn’t a question, nor even truly a statement.  It was only a word that tasted bitterly of betrayal, nearly as much as the faded smile on his lips.

“Hello, Captain Lewis.”


	5. The Rare Lazy Day - Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Green Apple Martini" - Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers - McGregorsWench - hints of Wondertrev

It was a rarity for Steve to have the day off, and an even bigger rarity for Darcy to be called in to work early, leaving him soft, sleepy, and cozy under the sheets.

But for him to still be tucked in when she got home a little after noon, that outrageous blond hair still tousled like a model’s in a commercial, that was almost unheard of.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she whispered, and kissed the tip of his nose.  Steve smiled lazily and nuzzled into the pillow with a soft “ _ hi _ .”  Darcy didn’t attempt to fight the grin tugging at her lips and stripped down to her bra and panties, then climbed back into bed with him.  Steve puckered his lips, eyes still peacefully shut, and she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to him.

“Mm,” he hummed, and finally blinked up at her with those ridiculous lashes.  His tongue rolled out to taste her after she’d already broken away, but she lay on her side next to him, her hand propping up her head.  “You changed your chapstick.”

“Sour apple.”  He shifted onto his side, draping one arm over the sloping curve of her waist.  She laced her free hand into his hair, playing with the tufts at the back of his neck.  “How is it you manage to be so damn adorable with such little effort?”

He laughed quietly, and wriggled closer, burying his face in her chest.  “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled, and at that she was in goddamn pieces, the smile on her face so big it might just rip a hole in the space-time continuum.  His head bobbed a little, as he moved to kiss every freckle he could find, and as she threaded her fingers through each strand of his perfect honey-colored hair, he found that tender divot in her collarbone, and she hummed, too, her own eyes falling shut.

“I love you.”  She whispered it at the crown of his head, and planted a little kiss there, and when he came back up to face her, still smiling, he nudged the tip of his nose to hers.

“I love you too.”  His hand was at the small of her back, fingernails testing the elastic on the band of her panties.  He dug in, palming the swell of her ass, and then kissed her softly, his pillowy pink lips somehow still tasting of her chapstick.

His hands on her, and his lips on her, and the sun peering through the window at the far side of the room, they all sent a jolt through Darcy starting between her thighs, and she moved herself closer to him, flicking out her tongue to both sample and disbelieve the way that Steve, this near ethereal being in front of her, could taste like crisp green apples after lying in bed all night and all morning.  He met her tongue with his, the rough flat of his hand pulling itself up her back, pulling her so she could press her chest to his.

Her bra came off, and then her panties, and for the next few hours (it could have been days she spent in his arms, years even) he kissed her and touched her and tasted her and felt her, tangled up in her sheets while the light outside turned golden.

He carried her to the shower in the late afternoon, her legs around his waist and her hair a mess as it fell down her shoulders and his.

“Are we still going to your parents’ place for dinner?” she asked him lazily, when he finally put her down and hopped into the tub, taking one moment to brush her teeth and a longer moment to watch in the mirror the way the suds rolled down every bronzed muscle.

He waited until she had hopped in with him to answer, until the only thing between them were the steam and the soap bubbles.  “Yeah, Mom said to come around seven.” He reached over to run the shampoo through her hair, smiling when she moaned at his fingers on her scalp.  “You aren’t nervous?”

“Nope, just under-decorated.”  She turned around so he could scrub her back.  “And young as shit. Your folks fought in World War I, you fought in World War II, you and me’re trying to  _ prevent _ World War III…”  She laughed a little, and caught a handful of water to splash him with.  “I never felt so  _ American _ .”

He whirled her back around, pulling her to his chest so quick her legs almost turned to jelly all over again.  “I love you,” he said, his forehead pressed to hers. “They’ll love you, too.”

He kissed her again, and with Captain America by her side, Darcy was certain she could take on the world.


	6. To Expect the (Un)expected - Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis/Johnny Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Blueberry Mojito" - Bucky/Darcy/Johnny Storm - EmSonderling

“Bucky,” Darcy says, with stars in her eyes so bright they could light up the dim, darkened club.  Her hand closes over his wrist just as he lifts it to take a drink of whatever cool and biting liquid the bartender’s filled it with, and he sets it back down.

“What’s up, doll?” he asks.  The club scene has changed since the forties, and while he’s always up for going dancing with his girl, music that’s too loud, a dance floor that’s too packed, and a room that’s both dark and flashing at the same time don’t really do much for him these days.  But he comes with her when she asks, and sometimes he gives her a little twirl to a song he doesn’t mind, and some ugly part of him in the back of his head hopes they don’t find what they’re looking for out here, hopes the two of them could do this song and dance to the end of time.

She turns her arm to show him her own wrist, the words glowing faintly there:  _ Hi, gorgeous.  Can I get you something else to drink, or you just gonna keep sipping on that tall glass of water at the bar? _

In spite of himself, he feels his cheeks fill with color.  His own second soulmark begins to itch, and his eyes flicker down to the spot on her opposite wrist, where his words are.  Where they remain.

She reaches up to cup his cheek.  “Will you come meet him with me?”

“Him,” he repeats, feeling his gut twist a little.  Darcy tells him it’s natural to be anxious about having two soulmates, that it happens to most in polyamorous relationships, but he worries anyways.  He’s been certain, since he met her, that she’ll love their third more, or that he’ll be so much better for her than Bucky could ever be. He’s been certain that they’ll forget all about him, because of the things he’s done and the suffering he can’t seem to stop causing.

But Darcy brings his knuckles to her lips.  “Hey. Do you trust me?”

“With everything.”  She smiles.

“Trust me that this is going to be okay.”  He takes her hand off his cheek and presses a kiss of his own to the flat of it.

“Okay.”

Every step towards the dancefloor feels longer and longer, and he can’t help but focus on the thrumming of his heart in his chest.  She’s leading him by the hand, and now he’s trying to memorize everything about her, the soft curve of her shoulders in the billowing shirt that somehow always smells like lavender, the way her hair bounces when she walks, the way that, every time she’s walking in front of him, she turns around to give a tiny gapped smile that just about melts him down to nothing.  He commits these to his brain in case - _ just in case _ \- this guy is everything Bucky ever thought he’d be.

But when they get to the throng of dancing bodies, and Johnny Storm, the infamously gorgeous idiot brother-in-law of one stuck-up idiot scientist from Darcy’s lab, turns around, flashing a smile that’s far too bright for Bucky’s taste, the feared Winter Soldier stops in his tracks.  Not only because he bears an annoyingly striking resemblance to Bucky’s best friend, but also because, well,  _ really _ ?

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he deadpans.  Johnny continues to gyrate to the music, using one hand to pull Darcy closer and the other - inexplicably - to pull Bucky flush against him.  He feels the heat travel into his ears, but his hips, the fucking traitors that they are, begin to roll and sway against Storm’s and his girlfriend’s.

“‘Fraid not, Sergeant Barnes.  But  _ damn _ do you look better than the history books.”

Yup.  His fucking words.

He offers one glance of disbelieving confusion to Darcy, who’s still smiling, though gentler this time, softer, before Johnny’s hand snakes down to his hip, and Bucky feels the lips of a stranger against his neck, grinning into his skin.

Bucky closes his eyes, and shit, just decides to go with it.


	7. Having the Hots - Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sex on the Beach" - Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley - Mila_Anna

“Are you sure you’ll survive a day there without  _ something _ to work on?” Harry chuckles teasingly.  Hermione rolls her eyes, pushing her sunglasses high up her nose to block the sun glinting off the sand at her feet.

“Don’t you worry for me, I’ve brought  _ plenty _ of books along in case the ocean and cabana boys can’t satisfy me.”  She thinks of the armfuls of law books stuffed into her suitcase, which is starting to feel alarmingly full, even with the extension charm she’s placed on it.  And then she decides to say fuck the books, because it’s not every day she allows herself the tender reprieve of a tropical vacation. She props herself on her elbow, putting him on speaker phone.  “And, yes, they’re all books for my work.”

“How  _ is  _ the magical solicitor business going?” asks a voice decidedly not on the phone, and Hermione’s head snaps up to meet the gaze of one very pale, very ginger man in front of her.

“Harry, I - I’ll have to call you back - ”  She doesn’t wait for a response before snapping the phone shut, and pushes herself to her feet to level herself (as much as possible) to Fred’s height.  “What in bloody hell are you doing here, Fred Weasley?”

“I’ve earned a holiday myself.  A proper holiday, mind you, not just a means of transporting my work to a pretty place where I can pretend I’ve treated myself.”  She hasn’t seen him shirtless in years, and though the glare off him might just blind her, it’s hard to take her eyes off his broad shoulders, that wide chest, the slim line of equally ginger hair trailing from his navel into his swim shorts.  He’s freckled a bit more than she remembers, and  _ Merlin _ , is she glad she’s wearing sunglasses so he can’t follow the arc of her eyes.  “Funnily enough, I modified one of  _ those _ little devices - ” he nods at the phone in her hand “ - to help me detect any magic folk around me, and...here we are.”

Hermione raises her eyebrows, visibly impressed.  “Detecting wizards and witches? Like some sort of electromagnetic field attuned to magic?  That’s clever technology, Fred.”

“I have been known to have my moments,” he says, nonchalant, his hands propped on his hips.  “You let me buy you a drink, I’ll tell you all about it.”

* * *

 

They spend most of the afternoon under a thatched roof at the bar, sharing a margarita the height of her arm, laughing about things they used to do, things they haven’t told each other about.  She feels a bit guilty telling Fred about the way Ron used to talk in his sleep - most often about spiders, or the Cannons, or Hermione - but the deep belly laugh that results only makes her do the same.

“You know how he used to fancy Madam Rosmerta?”

“Hermione, we  _ all _ fancied Madam Rosmerta at one point or another.”

“He made such a fuss once, trying to collect all the glasses and plates for her.”  She’s grinning, drunk more on sun and sand than tequila, and wanting very much to reach forward and touch him on the arm about now.  “He would’ve smashed everything on the table, if she hadn’t gotten her wand out on time.”

“It’s easy to be dumbstruck by a woman like that.  Clever. Independent.” He raises an eyebrow at her, and they reach for the glass in unison.  Hermione tries not to gasp at her fingers dashing across his, and at Fred watching her intently over the place where neither of them are moving their hands.  “Not so unlike yourself, Granger.”

“Fred.”

She can taste the salt from the rim of their drink when he presses his lips to hers, and drunk more on him than tequila, smiles into his kiss.

* * *

 

She rocks him into her in her own cabana, tossing her head back to listen to the waves rolling into the shore, the sea breeze flapping the curtain that separates them from the beach.  Her fingers lace through his on her hips, and when she lifts herself up and plunges him back into her, she watches him revering her, tongue lazing over his bottom lip.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he groans low in his throat, and his eyes follow hers with every move, one hand digging hard into her ass.  Something about the way he says her name makes her want him even more.

“Merlin, Fred,” she hisses, leaning forward to plant her hands on either side of his head.  He slides up into her, gripping her tight, and lifts his head to pepper kisses along her chest.  When his teeth catch one of her nipples, she lets loose a cry the rest of the beach will undoubtedly hear.  He’s so  _ thick _ , and so  _ deep _ , and fuck, he fills her so  _ right _ .  One of his hands sneaks between them, and Hermione feels herself building toward a high while he rolls his thumb over her clit in agonizing circles.  “ _ Fuck - Fred! _ ”

He chases her high shortly after, catching her when she collapses on top of him, both heaving and panting and sweating into each other.  She drops her forehead onto his, and he grins slowly up at her. She can nearly feel her heart beat just a bit faster.

“You’re brilliant, Hermione.”


	8. No Kissing in Baseball - Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis/Natasha Romanoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jack and Cherry Coke Slush" - Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis/Natasha Romanoff - Caitriona_3

“You two fixin’ on sneakin’ out, huh?”  Clint had appeared at the doorway with his arms folded over his chest, a mildly amused smirk playing across his lips.  Darcy stopped in her tracks, feeling her cheeks redden. 

The Manhattan Garnets had finished their last game of this series two hours prior (she had proudly pitched a shutout, and Nat had gone three for three with two doubles), and most of the girls were tucking in for the evening.  But on the bus ride to the hotel, Nat had pointed out what looked like a hell of a swing club, and based on that glint she always got in her eye when it came to things like this, Darcy knew they were going.

“Us two?” Nat laughed, resting her hands on her hips over the smooth silk of her dress.  “C’mon,  _ coach _ , whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well, if it weren’t the dresses and the dance shoes, I’d say maybe the lipstick.”  Like a prize idiot, Darcy lifted her hand to her mouth. Clint chuckled, mirroring Natasha by propping his hands on his own hips.  “Y’know, if you  _ were _ sneakin’ out, you’d need a chaperone.  Couple of single girls roamin’ the night scene alone?  Some would call it disgraceful.”

“What, you wanna come out with us?” Darcy asked, eyebrows raised.  Clint had been a hardass ballplayer back in his time, and a hardass coach since she’d known him.  Going out dancing with a couple of his players didn’t seem at all like him. But he was smiling now, looking much less like a hardass coach and much more like a boy happy to stick his hand in the cookie jar.

“I’m only doing my dues as your coach, keepin’ you outta trouble.  Or...was there some debauchery you dames were plannin’ on gettin’ into tonight you didn’t want me to see?”

God, he looked so smug.  Darcy would’ve been chewing her lip out of frustration if she hadn’t just finished putting on her lipstick.  But Nat was grinning just the same as Clint, and again she had that look in her eye that Darcy knew meant trouble.

* * *

 

They arrived back at the hotel around half past eleven, no worse for the wear but laughing like maniacs, Darcy’s arm over Natasha’s shoulder and Clint’s arm around her waist.

“Shhh,” Nat was hissing when they passed Ms. Hinson’s room, grinning so bright Darcy thought it might split her face right in half.  She nearly jumped, feeling Nat’s fingers graze her waist, but smiled just the same.

“Come on,” Darcy whispered, pulling her roommate and her coach into the door down the hall, and locked it.

She was about to reach for the light switch when she felt something on her neck, and another something on her wrist.

It didn’t take too long for her eyes to adjust to the dark, and not too much longer to register that the figures tangled in the dark were Nat and Clint, and that that something on her neck was Natasha’s mouth, and that something on her wrist was Clint’s hand.

They took their time kissing each other, Darcy letting her fingers climb through Nat’s hair, Nat sliding her hand down the back of Clint’s neck, Clint digging his nails into the small of Darcy’s back.  Clint kissed her gently at first, his tongue warm and curious as it grazed her lower lip, and then teasingly, tugging at her lip with the tips of his teeth. Nat kissed her strong, languid, rolling her tongue into Darcy’s mouth and making her go a little weak in the knees.

It was Darcy who pushed Clint onto her bed, because it was closer, and Darcy who tugged Nat closer by the hips.

Clint hurried Nat’s dress up over her head and Darcy tore open Clint’s belt and trousers, and Darcy felt herself smiling into her girlfriend’s jaw, certain that she’d painted the two of them bright red with her lipstick.  Clint reached for her, pushing his hand up her back and lifting the thin fabric up off her ass.

“God, Lewis, you’re somethin’,” she heard him whispering, before she felt his mouth at the curve of her naked waist.

“Yes, she is,” Natasha chimed in, one hand on Darcy’s thigh and the other sliding Clint’s pants down his legs.

“Oh, hush, you two,” Darcy added between peppering kisses down each of them, Nat soft and smooth and lithe and Clint a little rougher, a little more rugged under her touch.  “Worst roommate and coach I ever had.”

“He makes a terrible chaperone -  _ uh _ \- doesn’t he?”  Darcy was pushing Nat’s All-in-One down her hips, and Clint leaned in to press his lips to her exposed collarbone.

“Hey, goin’ out was  _ your _ idea; I was just steppin’ up to protect your virtue.”

Darcy snorted, and would have watched her and Nat’s virtues fly carefree out the window if she didn’t have so many other gorgeous things taking up her attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration and title from A League of Their Own. Underwear research done on the Vintage Dancer site <3


	9. Poolside - Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "White Peach Cooler" - Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers - crimtastic

Dishes.

Darcy Lewis-Rogers is doing dishes by hand and not using the dishwasher because it’s good for her to keep herself busy while her husband is away.  She is doing dishes by hand and not using the dishwasher because the window above the kitchen sink lets in the perfectly mild amount of sunlight on an otherwise sweltering day like this.  She is doing dishes by hand and not using the dishwasher because the window above the kitchen sink lets her make sure that new pool boy is actually doing his job and taking care of the leaves and gunk that tend to clog up the filter.

Darcy Lewis-Rogers is  _ definitely _ doing dishes by hand and not using the dishwasher so she can make sure the pool boy behaves himself, and she’s  _ definitely _ not scrubbing the same spot on the same dinner plate while she watches that new pool boy bend down in that tiny little Speedo to scoop stuff out of her pool with the pool net.

Did she mention that it’s sweltering?

Because, for the sake of keeping cool, of course, she’s going to lounge in the pool for the first time this summer the moment he’s finished, maybe even a moment sooner, because the poor boy is working so hard out in the hot sun, golden muscles glistening with sweat, and it would be cruel of her  _ not _ to offer him a cold glass of lemonade.

“Wow,” she says, trying not to sound too eager as she steps through the sliding door to the backyard, then bumps the door closed with her hips.  “It’s looking really nice.”

The pool boy swipes his hand across the tiny beads of perspiration on his brow.  “Well, you’ve got a great setup, Miss Lewis. Just needed a little cleaning up.”

“Mrs. Rogers,” she corrects him, and sets down the tray with the tumbler and glasses on the nearest table.  His eyes flicker from her face to the plunging neckline of her cover-up, and she smiles. “I, uh, got married a few months ago.  Military fella. Isn’t home much.” Darcy considers flashing him the ring her husband had proposed to her with, but thinks better of it.  The pool boy looks bashful, and the most adorable pink flush settles in his cheeks.

“Well, that’s - I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am.”  She pours him a glass and makes sure their fingers touch before she lets go.  He thanks her quietly, and drinks deep. Darcy certainly isn’t watching the taut cords of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobs with each gulp, and definitely not grazing her eyes down his front, to where she can spot the thick outline of him through his swimsuit.  When he lowers his glass, she takes her time roving her eyes back up his body. “You must get lonely - big house, all by yourself.”

“Mm.”  She fiddles with the hem of her cover-up, a delicious pressure building between her legs.  “I do. So...quiet in there, when he’s gone.”

She hears the glass hit the tray before she sees it, and before he takes a step forward, nearly closing the distance between them.  Darcy looks into his eyes then, chewing her lip at the lush length of his eyelashes, and then at the almost ghost-like touch of his calloused hand at her bare arm.  When she slides her hand down his tight stomach to cup him through his Speedo, he’s already rock hard, straining against it.

“I can fix that,” he murmurs, lips already half-pressed to hers.

He tastes like sun and chlorine, his mouth moving gently against her, his hands sliding under the back of her cover-up to feel her bare skin.  Darcy moans into his curious and probing tongue, curls her fingers into the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. She cants her hips upward to meet him in the middle, feeling him hard against her, and he takes her by surprise, grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around so that her back is to his chest, one hand holding her secure just above her breasts, and the other peeling her bikini bottoms down her thighs.

“Touch yourself, Mrs. Rogers.”  His breath roils at the tip of her earlobe, and she’s all too eager to comply, slipping a hand between her legs to tease her damp and swollen clit back and forth.  At her thick ass rolling up his erection, the pool boy swears, and sneaks his hand up to shove her bikini top aside, kneading her breast and pinching her nipple.

“Fuck, Steve,” she falters, and he moves his free hand to rest at her throat.

“Shhh.”  She picks up the pace rubbing over her clit, swirling the tiny nub in little circles, feeling herself growing wetter by the moment, and him with his cock shoved between them, thrusting against her plush ass through his bathing suit.  “That feel good, ma’am?”

“Mhm,” she keens, her voice higher than she remembers, and when his large hand closes over her breast, fingernail softly flicking at her nipple, her body sings for him, knees pressed tight together as she cums against her own fingers.  But, as Darcy quickly realizes, it’s just  _ not enough _ .

“Mrs. - ”

“Sit,” she commands him, and whirls around to shove him into the lounge chair behind him.  She lifts the first thin layer up over her head, then plucks frantically at the strings of her bikini top.  The pool boy wastes no time shucking his swimsuit to free his gloriously thick cock, pink and uncut and veined all over.  Darcy feels her tongue dart out to wet her lips, and kneels above him, forcing herself to look down imperiously. “You...have been teasing me all afternoon.”  She punctuates her words by sliding shallowly over the head of him, and he sucks in a lustful inhale.

“I’m - sorry...about that,” he grunts out, one row of perfect white teeth chewing down on her lower lip.  He squints up at her as though she is the sun, too bright and vivid and brilliant to take in all at once. She is.  She knows it. So she sinks down onto him confidently, every inch filling her more completely than the last, and lowers her hands to his shoulders for leverage. 

“F-fuck,” he groans, and leans his forehead to the swell of her breast.  Darcy bounces her ass against the thick of his thighs, pushing him impossibly deeper into her before withdrawing and doing it again.

Steve’s hands dig into the flesh of her hips, speeding up her pace as she takes him in over and over and over, her own hand wandering again to the back of his neck, forcing his gaze up into hers.  His eyes are so clear and determined and somehow soft, hungry to have her, to be inside her like he is.

Darcy leans back, Steve pressing the flat of his thumb to her clit, and with how he fills her and how he touches her, she cums again, choking on his name as he continues to pump into her.

When she slumps forward, grinning at him through a mess of hair, she feels him begin to twitch inside her, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and she leans into his mouth, delicately laving her tongue over his lower lip.

He cums into her with both hands clenched tight over the plush of her ass, crying out against her lips.

The Earth comes back to life around them in pieces, a gentle breeze brushing through the trees and casting a couple of leaves into the yard.

“That was…”

“Something,” she finishes for him, and giggles a little, sitting up as he softens slowly inside her.  Steve blows out a satisfied exhale, and smiles back up.

“I gotta clean the pool more often.”  She laughs this time, and kisses him again through her smile.

“You sure do, Mr. Rogers.”


	10. Whiskers on Kittens - Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lemon Drop" - Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis - quadrad

“I want frozen lemonade,” Darcy whined, reluctantly tearing her face away from Bucky’s bare collarbone and rolling to her side to check the time on the alarm clock.  “Is it too early for frozen lemonade?” Her heavily ringed left hand reached for her phone, and when it found no text from Jane calling her into work today, she let it drop again and rolled back over to face her brand-spankin’-new fiance.  Intended.  _ Betrothed _ , even.

“Doll, it’s seven thirty in the morning.”  Bucky’s eyes were trained on the popcorn of their ceiling, his arms splayed at his sides with his fingers spread wide.  He paused, and in that moment of silence, his gaze flickered toward the brightly lit window off their bedroom. “Of course it ain’t too early for frozen lemonade.”

“Can we go to the Del’s stand at the Osborn Memorial Mall?  I wanna stop by that vintage pop-up they’ve got next to the Hot Topic.”

Bucky flopped onto his side, narrowing his eyes at her until they were dramatically suspicious slits, his nostrils flared for extra comedic effect.  “You don’t want to go to the pop-up.”

“Yes, I do,” she said innocently, kicking the comforter away from her legs.  “I saw a pair of bell bottoms that’re in really good condition, and that Visa gift card Tony gave me for a finder’s fee is burning a hole in my pocket.”

Try as she might, those big blue eyes wouldn’t fool him.  Bucky puckered his lips, leaning forward until his forehead touched hers.

“You want to go to the pet store.”

Darcy’s hands found their way to his hips, dipped into the edge of his waistband, and pulled his lower half closer.  “I want no such thing.” She’d broken her gaze by now, and seemed much busier tracing the V of his hips with her fingernails, drawing something between a twitch and a hiss from him.  “I’d just like to spend a hot-ass day getting cold-ass lemonade with my fine-ass lover.”

Before her hand could drop any lower into his boxers, he snatched it by the wrist, bringing her knuckles to his lips, the cool, familiar point of the glittering topaz there pressing against his cheek.  “What would you say…” He drew in a deep breath before continuing, knowing exactly what her reaction would be once he finished. “...if I said yes to the cat?”

Darcy’s eyes sparkled with something louder than ecstasy, but she pressed her lips together for precisely one speechless moment.  “His name is Freckle. And if you said yes, I would…” Her right hand was still free, drifting back to the uncharted waters between them.  “...give us something to do until the mall opens? And maybe even buy you a frozen lemonade from the Del’s stand?”

Bucky wanted to laugh, but the delicious pressure of her skin on his made it sound more like a soft, strangled grunt, one that he pressed into her ring before he pressed it to her lips.  Delight painted her thick pink lips, the gentle crinkle of her nose when she smiled up at him. She reached a little lower, her grasp moving from delicate to hungry, insistent. “Then I’m saying yes to the cat.”


	11. Chasing the Seine - Bucky Barnes/Jane Foster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Southside Gin Fizz" - Bucky Barnes/Jane Foster - ArtemisDay

It was the first sunset he’d watched sink down the blue of the Seine, and truth be told, he wasn’t really watching it.

The stark contrast of this summer against the past two years of his life nearly made him feel ungrateful; he almost missed the weight of his army gear over his uniform, almost missed the feeling of dirt landing in thick clods every which way around him, the sound of shots overhead ringing in the air and peppering no man’s land with bullets.

He should’ve been here, now, enjoying the Paris air thick with the smell of fresh bread and flowers ducking low over the river.  And he was, for the most part. Men would kill to sit on a balcony facing the water, nothing to worry about but keeping the cigarette in his mouth lit.

But still, Bucky’s leg bounced tellingly, and the dig of his fingernails into his pants felt better than it should have.

He closed his eyes, letting the smoke curl into his lungs, and released.  If his ears hadn’t been so keen, he wouldn’t have heard the door opening to the balcony adjacent to his, or the soft footsteps of the woman who stepped through.

“Hi,” Jane said, and when Bucky opened his eyes, she was looking tentatively over the gap, Lucia tucked to her chest in her tiny blue bundle.

“Hi,” he said back, and put out the smoke for good measure.  “What are you doin’ back so soon? Thought you all were goin’ out for dinner.”

Jane sighed and fell into the chair, elbows propped up to keep Lucia steady.  “William took him out to drink. Always William, always out to drink.” Her finger rolled across the thin brown tufts of hair on her daughter’s head, flattening them.

Bucky didn’t know what to say.  He chewed his lip and thought about offering her a cigarette, before he remembered that Jane didn’t smoke.  Remembered that she used to wrinkle her nose at him when he did, when they were younger.

“Why’d you come here?” he heard himself asking, and for an instant his voice belonged to someone else.  He couldn’t look at her anymore, not while she was cradling her baby to her chest, twins with chestnut hair that should have been someone else’s wife, someone else’s daughter…

“I...wanted to get some air.  And the - the sun...it looked - “

“I didn’t mean the balcony.”  His arms were heavy now, and while he wished he could lift them to bring another smoke to his lips, his hands wouldn’t leave the arms of the chair beneath him.  “Why’d you come to this place? Here,” he added feebly, and at last his hands came to life to gesture without much direction at the space around himself. “This hotel, this weekend.”

“I…”  There was hurt in her cautious blue gaze, but something else - something that told him she had no idea who he was anymore, that he wasn’t the man she remembered from days long past.  And he wasn’t. “I wanted to see you, Bucky.”

“Why?”

She frowned at him.  “What do you mean, ‘why?’  You’re my best friend. Of course I wanted to see you.”

Bucky scoffed, the toe of his boot brushing angrily at the place his cigarette had fallen.  He had half a mind to shut himself up in his room, or check out of the hotel and catch the soonest boat back to Brooklyn, or climb over the railing and take her in his arms like he should’ve done before he left for the war.  Like he’d wanted to every day in the trenches.

“You make it real hard, you know?” he said instead, the words pushed through his teeth in one breath.  He closed his eyes again, entirely unsure of how he could blame her now, as if she’d been the one who left.

Like she could read his mind, Jane came to her feet.  “ _ I  _ make it hard?  You couldn’t wait to get away from me, Bucky Barnes.  You think it wasn’t hard for me, watching the papers day after day, hoping I wouldn’t read your name?”  She sucked in a deep inhale, and it must’ve been a miracle Lucia didn’t wake up. “How long did you want me to wait for you, Bucky?  Put school on hold? My life? Just wishing you’d come back and not knowing if you would?”

He said nothing, knowing she was right.  The sun had tucked into the horizon now, the rest of the sky glowing brilliant purple and deep navy.  Still Lucia slept at her mother’s breast. She was a beautiful baby, her expression always widely contemplative whenever she was awake.  But now, the sliver of her face he could see, she looked like a tiny old woman, all creases and wrinkles that made her appear nearly frustrated, a small grandmother chiding her little ones for taking a cookie from the cookie jar.

“I’m studying in Paris,” she said after a long moment.  She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but leaned against the railing closest to his balcony, as if she wanted him to join her in the middle.  He stood, came a step closer, and braced himself on his hands, bending at the waist with his legs outstretched behind him. Close enough and far enough.  Like always.

“Yeah?”

Jane nodded.  “At the university.  I’ll be looking to the stars, as usual.”  A few of them were peeking down from the deepest blue above them, and Jane peeked back.

Lucia gurgled.  She was yawning awake now, and if Bucky had reached out, he could have brushed his hand across the fine hairs at the crest of her forehead.  He didn’t.

A clanging sounded from inside Jane’s hotel room, followed by a pair of muffled male voices.  Bucky pushed away from her, and took to leaning against the wall beside the door back to his own room.  She looked up now, meeting his gaze, a fearsome mix of defiance and resolve in her eyes.

“You write me, James Barnes.  You write me this time. Understand?”

The fumbling in the other room was growing closer.  Bucky gripped his doorknob and turned, gazing back just as defiantly, just as resolved.  “I will.”


End file.
